


How I've Let You Down

by DarkKnightDan



Category: Zootopia (2016)
Genre: AU-criminals, Alcoholism, Crime Boss Nick, Criminal Empire, F/M, Father-Son Relationships - Freeform, Implied/Referenced Domestic Violence, M/M, Organized Crime, Pre-meeting Judy, Referenced Drug Abuse, Referenced Emotional Distress, Referenced past abuse
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-02-22
Updated: 2017-02-23
Packaged: 2018-09-26 04:45:15
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,429
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9863480
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DarkKnightDan/pseuds/DarkKnightDan
Summary: Looking up at the sky, sometimes I can't help but wonder if you hate me.





	1. Tick, Tock

Shadows. Shadows dotted the street. Under the lamps, the ones with burnt out bulbs, in the alleyways, all over, there was nothing but shadow. There, in those shadows, a silhouette could easily be missed. Often they concealed drug dealers, pickpockets, wannabe vigilantes, sometimes the odd teenage couple wanting to sneak a quickie before the parents came calling. After all, it wasn't safe for kids to be on the streets after dark. Maybe in the other worldly streets of City Center, maybe even in Tundratown, but not in Happy Town. 

Bereft of warmth, of any sense of neighborhood, the collection of apartment buildings looked more like the walls of a prison than anything else. Out comes the drug dealer that lives on the fourth floor of the second apartment building, fifth room to the left if you're looking from the center, ten-oh-one in the evening. Right on time. In comes the single mother that lives on the first floor, furthest apartment from the front door, bars on the window. A short wave is exchanged. A glance didn't even have to be cast in the direction to know the exchange took place. 

In Happy Town, it was easy to learn where people were, and what they did. They could go far, after all. The boundaries of Happy Town ensnared their captives as though they were walls made of stone, and, in a way, they were. A glance out of the shadows, just beyond the top of the building across the street, gave a reminder that there was a world outside of Happy Town, lingering just on the edge of the clusters of buildings that dominated every block. 

Rex should have been here by now. A quick glance at the watch on my wrist revealed that it was five past ten at night. The meeting had been arranged for ten. Rex should have been here five minutes before that. Key words, should have been. My fingers found the sleek surface of the phone that was the only weight in the pockets of the suit I wore. A press of one button, and there was a connection in my ear. 

"Cops on the street?" There was a short pause on the other end of the line. During which the badger on the other end hummed to herself incessantly. The noise of her chair rolling about the small cave that she called an intelligence center could be heard over the line. She moved about for a minute, then came back over the line.

"Not in Happy Town." Another pause, more humming. "They're in Tundratown."

"Anything that has to do with us?" An audible snicker came back over the line. "Directly?" Silence. With another tap of the button, the line went dead. Of course the pigs would bust up the other branch tonight. Just what the business needed. 

At least they weren't here. The only problem is that, when Rex did finally come down the steps that led up into the apartment building, there was no excuse. From the shadows, there was a hope in my heart that he could feel my glare on the back of his head the whole way down the stairs. When he turned to the shadows at the sound of a high pitched whistle, Rex instantly started stumbling over his own words, trying to get out an explanation as to why he was late.

"Please, shut up." A glance down revealed that it was now ten minutes past the same hour. The German shepherd went on though, and so a glare followed the initial warning. When my piercing gaze met his own, finding his eyes already terrified, Rex shrank where he stood. Ironic, considering that he had to look down to lock gazes with me.

"What's my policy?" Rex visibly shrunk further at the question, as though he was trying to make his taller frame seem vulnerable, like he was a pup again. There was a moment of silence, and then the question was repeated. Though, this time it wasn't said in quite as nice of a tone. Instead, it nearly dripped with venom as it slid off of my tongue. 

"E-every minute is a h-hundred dollars." The twenty five year old sounded like an oversized pup at this point. "B-but I-I don't have the kind of money." That only earned a shrug from me. 

"Not my problem, the money?" Rex looked stunned at the simplest demand, and stood there with his hands empty. There was a moment of silence, and then a sigh that left my lips in a huff. "No money?"

"N-no, sir." Ah, now he felt like calling me Sir. Again, he started to launch into an explanation, until another glare was shot his way. Even then, he stammered further.

"Shut the fuck up." I sniped. "Just....shut the fuck up." My paws found my temples, lingered there for a moment as they kneaded the flesh there out of the knots that were swiftly forming. "Three weeks, three fucking weeks I gave you, and you bring me...nothing?" Rex looked like he didn't want to respond at this point, only stood there with a look in his eyes that screamed he was thinking about running. 

There was an ugly sort of silence then. It lingered over everything, including the teenagers down the street, sitting on the edge of the curb, shooting the fucking breeze. Just like I was about to shoot this fucking kid. 

"Y'know what? How about I make this easy for you. Show up tomorrow at the bar, or else.” The warning was left at that, nothing else needed to be said, Rex knew what fate awaited him if he didn’t follow the orders he was given, again. Rex started to say something again, but a quick step by him was all that it took to send him into silence. There was one thing that near everyone learned in Happy Town, when Nick Wilde walks away, you don’t keep talking to him.

With that issue resolved, well, as resolved as it could be at the moment, all that was left to do was check in on the business down the street. An old apartment building housed what could be described very lazily as a club, though it was more a cover for other operations that ran out of the back. Drug making, arms dealing, maybe some torture, if it was necessary. The building was inconspicuous enough that the cops had yet to bust it. The front rooms, the ones visible from the street, were vacant, left as they had been when the building was condemned and the residents evicted, some unknown time ago. Behind these rooms, walls had been torn down, doors bolted shut, the whole place soundproofed. No one knew a thing about what went on inside. 

Except, of course, for those that were allowed in. 

The steel door that separated the outside world from the club was bolted shut. The slide covering the peephole was drawn, a plain metal slate that separated the outside world from peering in. Two knocks, and that slide was pulled back, a beady eye looked through the hole, accompanied by a gruff voice. 

“Password?” 

“Open the fucking door.” At the sound of my voice, the door was pulled open, accompanied by a heavy squeak. Through the door, past the guy that had been standing at the door, and up the stairs. No attention was paid to the various mammals in the club, nor my Lieutenants, all lounging in various places around the room.

The door upstairs was much like the first one, though this one opened easily enough, slamming against the reinforced wall with a thunderous bang that sent the arctic white fox lounging on the other side of the room skittering over the top of the leather furniture.

“Wake up.” A pair of white ears poked over the edge of the back of the couch, a teenage face followed, before a full body emerged. James stood behind the couch, paws resting on the leather. He sighed, and then glanced to the side.

“Sorry, not much was going on.”

“Not much my ass, Tundratown got busted up, or did you not hear?” Silence. The answer really didn't need to be spoken. 

“Stop sleeping on the job.When I'm gone nobody’s going to wake you up to keep you from getting killed. You understand me?” There a murmured acknowledgment, where James called me ’Dad’ instead of ‘Mate’ or ‘Man’ for once. 

“Good, now get your jacket on, we’re going to see what's going down in Tundratown.”


	2. Through Glass

The rain that had pounded down on the pock-marked roof of the car turned to snow when the tunnel opened its gaping maw, allowing the car to pass through. The light that had been shining from somewhere in City Center was dulled by the clouds that hung low over the buildings dotted around the freeze-your-ass-off wasteland that was Tundratown. The accompanying fog obscured the tops of many of the buildings from view, giving this place the sense that it was, more or less, isolated from the rest of the City. Just like our own little home.

Despite the snow that made it hard to see ten feet in front of the car, there were still couples out and about, strolling down the sidewalk with larger-than-life coats, faces tucked down into their collars. Some stragglers lingered about on their own, wolves, mostly, but the prey all stuck together in the icy-cold blizzard, finding some sort of protection from the big, bad preds in the whiteout. 

“You talk to Madge?” James asked from the opposite side of the car, where he sat lopsided, looking more like he was on the way to dreamland, than a crime scene. His overcoat was furrowed over his jacket, creating small pockets where snow that came through the roof collected, accompanied by the snow that came through the cracked window he had refused to close. His collar was pulled up, hiding his muzzle from view, allowing only for his eyes and the top of his head to be seen. 

“ ‘Course.” Was the muttered reply. “Didn’t want to show up if the flies were still buzzing around the shit, right?” James hummed to himself, and turned away, facing the window now. He stretched his arms above his head, and then shrugged his shoulders. “What?”

“Might make for some fun, is all. Getting real tired of sitting around Wilde Times.” The temptation to step on the brake, and throw the kid out of the door was more than prevalent. His gaze didn’t turn around after that statement, and, honestly, it was better off that way. A quick glance in James’s direction revealed that he had stopped shifting about, probably settling down into sleep already, for the few minutes he could get. 

“You can’t just go to sleep like this.” James didn’t shift in response, just set there with his arms crossed; his head propped against what part of the window was still up. The silence gave rise to a sort of anger that the kid didn’t deserve. The steering wheel creaked from the increased stress of being squeezed in an attempt to redirect the anger. There was the faintest hint of copper when teeth met tongue. The anger was bubbling up, a fucking boiling pot that had been left on the burner for too damn long. 

Thankfully, what had formerly been the sign for Koslov’s bar came into view just as it was about to spill over. The neon lights that spelled out Iceberg Lounge in some sort of fancy writing that looked like it belonged more on a five star restaurant than a gangster’s bar were now turned off. The windows of the bar were all broken in, leaving some shards of glass scattered all around the sidewalk, where it looked almost identical to the ice that hung off of the aforementioned sign. The cops had seemingly left already, having already removed the yellow tape that usually blocked off crime scenes. 

Couldn’t park close, just in case. There was an alleyway, five blocks down, one that was generally out of sight of the traffic cams. Out of sight of all of the working ones, anyway. There were a pair of cams that had been left up. They might have been replaced years ago, had someone not slipped money to one of the Chief’s surveillance officers under a table in a dimly lit bar. Coming to a stop in the alleyway, James shifted in his seat, barely stirring. A quick shake roused him completely, but he cursed as he reached down and rolled the window up. 

“You didn’t park far, did you?” 

“Out of sight.” James scoffed as he shoved the door open with a crack as it nearly snapped off of its hinge. He slid out of his seat, and slammed the door shut behind him. Again, the anger threatened to overflow, but a deep breath managed to qualm it, for now. An outburst in a failed business venture that had been raided would be more appropriate. Right now wasn’t the time. So, the car was abandoned in the alleyway, along with what pretense of anger had risen on the way over. 

Walking side by side, James’ stride was noticeably lacking in the commanding presence that was needed of a Lieutenant. His shoulder were hunched, his face forward, chin down, his hands shoved down into his pockets. He looked like he was up to no good, looked like a troublemaking teenager, which, in all fairness, he was. “Stand up straight, get your chin up. You look like someone’s already got their foot on your throat.” A quick glance, a muttered curse was the only reply that followed before James complied. He stood up straight, and his gaze nearly mirrored my own when he turned then. 

“Good?” 

“Better.” James’ shoulder slumped slightly, but he didn’t return to the posture he had assumed just moments ago. That, at the very least, was a plus. By the way he was walking, and where it was that we were going, he would have been swift to draw attention. Now, the pair of us could have passed for inspectors, sweeping in to check out the remnants of the crime scene. 

The door that led into Koslov’s was much different from the one that guarded Wilde Times. Instead of solid steel, he had offered for a pair of double doors, filled with glass. Everyone could see out, everyone could see in. A stylistic choice, hell, one that fit the aesthetic of what the place had once been. A place of less-than-legal business was definitely not a good use for them, though. That glass lay shattered on the ground though, along with what had been smashed out of the windows. A sweep of the foot cleared the shards away decently enough. 

No bother with the handles, James led, stepping through the hole that had housed the glass probably just a handful of hours ago. He muttered something to himself about hazardous working conditions as he went. 

The inside of the club didn't look any better than the outside. The back walls were marred with bullet holes. Tables and chairs lay tipped over on the floor. Some of the tables had splashes of blood that stained their cloths a sickly shade of red. Shell casings lay all about the floor, mingled with shattered plates and glasses. Some were small cartridges, pistols, more than less likely from Koslov’s men. Then there were larger casings, assault rifles, some shotgun shells. 

Whoever said that the cops fought fair. 

“Check in the back, see if they got everything. I'm going to see if the safe is still closed.” James went off without a word, heading toward what should have been a kitchen, if the place actually ran like it looked. 

The bar in the corner of the room looked like it had taken less hits than the rest of the room. There was some glass on the floor, liquor still dripped from where bottles had been smashed in the crossfire, but there wasn't any blood. Not that could be seen, anyway.

A quick shove of a panel of what looked like solid wood was rewarded with a distinct click as the compartment swung open. Inside the small cubby, tucked into the bar, was the safe. It took up the majority of the cubby, the rest of the room being taken up by money that had been shoved into the space. Once the money had been removed, taking a new place in the pockets of my jacket, the safe remained in an empty expanse. 

A quick spin of the tumbler two clicks right, three clicks left, eight right, and a pause before pushing in, was rewarded by the safe’s door swinging open with the smallest of squeaks. The item contained in the safe still remained, a thin layer of dust resting over it. Satisfied that not even Koslov had messed with it, the safe was locked again, and the panel replaced. 

James stood at the edge of the bar, leaning against the wood with arms crossed over his chest, propped up on one foot. “They took it all, even the stuff in the back-back.” What followed was a shattered glass, hurled toward the floor at terminal velocity, which sent shards scattering all around the floor. Another soon followed, though the second one was hurled across the room instead.

“God fucking damnit.” James didn't flinch at the sound, nor the movement, he just continued to stand there with a blank look plastered across his face. When the glasses stopped flying, he leant off of the bar. 

“Can I go home now?” Silence. Probably the ugliest fucking pause as our gazes met. Neither of us yielded as we stood barely a few feet from each other. The air was charged with tension, making the hair on the back of my neck stand on end, bring the anger boiling higher than it already was. 

“You're fucking kidding, we have work to do. Cops have our product, and we need to get that back.”

“What about Koslov?”

“What about him?” Jame’s brows scrunched together as his eyes narrowed, his whole face suddenly looking older as he went from bored to grim. 

“I'm not wasting time getting him out. He fucked up, that's his problem.” With a scoff, James turned and stormed toward the door, hands shoved into his pockets as he went, in that same damn posture that he had been in on the way into the former club. “Where the fuck do you think you're going?”

“Home. Try and remember where it is if you need me.” James ducked out of the door then, the same way we had come in together. The situation was quickly shrugged off though, priority directed back toward the stolen cash that the cops were essentially holding in their evidence lockers, no doubt. It wouldn't stay there for long. 

Not if Nick Wilde had anything to say about it.


	3. Isolation

There were an unusual amount of people at Wilde Times that night. The old building was packed, nearly filled to the brim with preds that had wanted to get away from the things that troubled them. What that was, it didn’t matter. The doors were open, and they had come flooding in by the linefull, giving the bouncers a night to earn their pay. The bar had been restocked twice, and even then it was running low on some of the liquors once more. Beer had sold out earlier in the night, but nobody seemed to care. They were all dancing, laughing, having the time of their fucking lives. 

A corner was more suited to the sensibilities of a teenager. A booth tucked away from all of the people, outside of the glow of the neon lights that switched rapidly between different colors, fast enough that it was disorienting to look at for more than a few seconds. The whole place stank, it smelled like sweat, and alcohol, and….something else, something that couldn’t quite be described. The corner offered some respite from the sea of bodies that crowded the dance floor. 

Why all of these predators came in on that night in particular, it was impossible to tell. All that mattered was the smile on my father’s face. He stood in his little box above the dance floor, the one that hung over it like a king’s balcony, and he really did look like a king. Hands shoved into his pockets, a hint of a smile on his face, shoulders back and head tall, he looked like he owned the whole world, despite the fact that he only held a sway over a tenth of the population. 

The contrast between us two was, to say the least, jarring at times. He, trying to give people a place to escape, where they could be themselves, doing good. What would he say if he knew his only son was selling drugs out of the back door, making sure that people kept the high running even after they left the club? A disapproving stare would follow, no doubt, a sharp lashing with his tongue, and then the question of why. Why sell the drugs? Why hurt people like this? Why not help me? 

More questions loaded onto the mountain that had inevitably piled up over the course of the last decade. Like snow on the peak, just making that mountain more and more hostile. No, not hostile, there was nothing like that against Dad. More like impassable, separating, isolating. 

Isolating, that’s what sitting in corner booth was doing. Getting away from faces that would come to the back door later in the night, asking for product. Getting away from old classmates, some of the faces old friends. It wasn’t the easiest thing to do but, something said that it was necessary. 

Not something, rather, someone. A chat with a certain pint-sized mafioso had given the argument sway. Keep everyone distant, he had advised over a pair of drinks. If you do that, you won’t have any problem doing what’s best for yourself, best for business. 

And just like that, there was nobody else. Mom and Dad were just faces in the morning that offered smiles on the way out the door. They were a brief conversation upon returning home, a pair of shared goodnights as their door shut for the night. Jess was just a name. A name floating about in a sea of others, the meaning of the word sullied by the squalor that it fell in with. Not to be thought of, not to be seen, not to be remembered. Not if success was the destined path. There was a saying, one can’t climb a ladder carrying others on one’s back. 

No time for sayings, it looked as though it was time for a conversation. A young cheetah wearing a suit suddenly commanded attention. He stood beside the booth, hands in his pockets. His tie hung loose around his neck, showing where he had unbuttoned the top of the dress shirt he wore. His jacket, similarly, was unbuttoned. Despite that fact, he held his arm over one part of his jacket in particular, right next to the hip. 

“You’re Nick Wilde, right?” 

“Who’s asking?” The cheetah smirked, and then slid into the booth. He put one paw on the table, while the other rested below. The feeling of cold steel against the pads of my paw was comforting at that point. There was no mistaking it, this cheetah had a gun. What he planned on doing, however, was still unclear. 

“Someone from across the Biomes, wanted to know why you think you can sell out of the back door of a club, same product that he’s selling.”

 

“Because it’s my goddamn turf. Last I checked, your kind didn’t have a place here.” The cheetah cocked a brow, then chuckled. While he inclined his gaze for just a movement, tore it off of my face, the heater that had been tucked into a holster was freed, and pointed squarely at the suited cheetah from under the table.

There was no doubt in my mind that he was mimicking the gesture. The only question was, who was going to start shooting first. A bang quickly answered that question, though it was further away than the gun that was under the table could have possibly been. From across the room, there was a scream. Without hesitation, a second bang followed, the bullet from my own revolver flying under the table. The cheetah visibly jerked when the bullet hit him, and the bang that followed went off target. 

Off target, but it still slammed into my stomach, forcing a shaky breath as two more of my own shots followed, eliminating any chance of the cheetah firing back. He slumped forward onto the booth, and then his pistol hit the floor with a clatter. The gunshots didn’t cease though. Through the haze, bullets could be heard smashing into glasses, the screams of the club’s patrons accompanying the cries of terror. Without hesitation, the booth was abandoned, blood trailing from the wound that had been punched into my frame by the cheetah’s shot. A paw managed to stem the bleeding somewhat, but that didn’t stop pain from jolting through every nerve with each step. 

There were multiple silhouettes in the club, all holding the distinct shapes of pistols, firing away into the crowd indiscriminately. Mammals of all shapes and sizes hit the floor, cut down by the hail of fire that had been unleashed. There was nobody to return fire, though. Nobody, except for me.   
And the chance of helping anyone in that club was gone the moment that the side door closed, shutting out the sound of gunshots, the sound of screams. Outside, the world almost stood still, like nothing was going on just a few feet through the door that was currently blocked by my back. 

All thoughts of everyone in there, was shoved into the abyss of names and faces that had been overflowing already. There was nothing left to think about. All that was left to do, was run. There was a direction, predestined, and something in the primal part of my brain knew where it was supposed to go. Street lights flew by, casting the only illumination on the street when moving under them. The jacket that had concealed the holster was abandoned. The revolver, however, retained its place in my grip.

Buildings rushed by, slates of grey, one no different than the last, but whatever part of my brain had figured out where to go had enough sense to remember which building was which. The steps rushed past, taken three at a time. The front door of the building hung off its hinges, as it always had, but there was nobody in the lobby of the shoddy-housing. That, along with the lack of wait for the elevator, was troubling. 

My feet never stayed completely on the floor during that elevator ride. Up, down, up, down, they bounced the entire way. The number above the door climbed too slow, but it eventually came to rest on three. The door wasn’t even fully open before the elevator was vacant. 

Instantly, there was almost nowhere to go. People filled the hallway, all packed together like they were on a subway car, all looking in the same direction. 

The exact fucking direction that I didn’t want them looking in. 

There were murmurs, things that didn’t fully register, as people moved out of the way for the familiar face that was mine. Some moved other people, yelled ahead for others to move. Then, my eyes fell on the door. Frame fucked, the door itself lay on the floor in the hallway. It had been obviously ripped from its hinges, and discarded without a second thought. Everything seemed to move in slow motion then, each step toward the doorway felt like it only covered about half an inch. 

There was some twinge of hope, building in my stomach, rising into my throat, as the doorway drew closer. Maybe, some stupid fucking piece of me said, just maybe everything is okay. Maybe she actually fucking listened for once, and left. Maybe. Maybe. 

There was no maybe about what was inside of that apartment, though. Splayed out on the ground, lying in a pool of her own blood, was Jess. Her handed was extended toward the door, like she was reaching for me, but her eyes stared, unseeing, up at the blank ceiling. For a moment, all that I could do, was stand there, and stare. She was going to move in a second, the last bastion of hope told me, she’s not gone, she’s close, but not gone. 

I stood in that doorway long enough that it was the paramedics who released me from the trance that had settled in. They moved to Jess, and knelt next to her. The paramedics that had jostled past took one look at her, and each of them nodded to each other, before standing up and moving away. They went further into the apartment, and that’s when it hit me, that there was the distinct sound of a child wailing from somewhere in the apartment. Still in a daze, the hallway went by, until Jess’ room came into view. Sitting on the bed, clutching onto some sort of plush toy, was James. The paramedics were trying to coax him out of the corner that he sat in, but he was refusing to move. Then his eyes fell on me. 

“Daddy?” The paramedics looked back, and seemed to take notice of me for the first time, specifically on the blood that was swiftly staining the white cloth of my undershirt. One of the men went to help me, but he was met by a paw, and a glare. 

“Just….let me get my son, then you can do whatever you want, alright?” The man looked from my eyes, to the blood, then stepped back. At that point, the revolver hit the floor, making a dull thud against the carpet. James scooted forward to meet my arms, climbing up into them. The first thing he asked was where Jess had gone. Gently, I moved James so that he wouldn’t be able to see through my shirt.

“Don’t worry about that...just….stay like this, don’t look up, okay?” There was the feeling of a tiny nod, and the paramedics fell in, one behind and one in front of me. Upon emerging from the apartment, I took swift note that nobody stood in the hallway anymore. They were all watching from somewhere, no doubt, there was also the fact that the cops had been called that drove them back into their homes. 

James didn’t ask any more questions, only held his head against my chest, just like he had been asked. The police arrived, and, soon enough, someone came to get Jess’ body. On their way out, when James was with the officers, I stopped the gurney, and gently slid the sheet back. Jess’ features were calm, almost peaceful, like she had just fallen asleep. Somewhere in my brain, it still hadn’t registered that she was gone. 

The paramedics didn't notice that her ring was gone. Or, if she did, they didn't say anything. Whatever the case, it ended up in my pocket.

It came as little shock, when the news came about everyone who had been in the club. Sitting alone in an apartment, with a toddler, that's when the cops came. They asked everything they wanted to know, things that didn't seem relevant, then they left.

It was just James with me then. Me, a fucking lowlife drug dealer, taking care of a kid who had no clue what I did with my time. 

Sometimes, life just likes to fuck with people. 

That corner booth from the night was still there, still had a hole torn through the leather seat from the bullet. There was still a scar on my stomach, too. The building had been left empty, save for some scavengers, squatters, but that was before the building was repurposed. Now, it held a store of drugs and weapons. The same damn things that caused that night, and here they were out in plain sight, on the same floor that still had bloodstains in it. 

“I'm fuckin’ sorry, Dad.” Was the familiar phrase that left my lips, even as an assault rifle found its usual place in my paws. “But I'm going to war.”


End file.
